Come Away With Me
by JustBFree
Summary: OneShot. Hannibal wants Clarice to leave her old life behind, but she needs to be convinced. Shoutout to A.C.!


Author's Note: As much as I love my X-men stories, I felt I needed a change of pace. Hannibal caught my eye, and a few days later, my imagination. Thus, this was born of it. It's movieverse, but with a changed ending. Rather than chopping off his own hand, our dear Dr. Lecter does something far more rational- why? Because Clarice didn't call the police, that's why! Hannibal removed all the phones from the house, Clarice couldn't call for help because there was nothing to call with. Other than no cops on the way, and no chopping of the hands, *almost* everything else that happened in the movie holds with the story. Enjoy!  
  
*^*^*^*^*  
  
July 5th.  
  
The night sky lifted from pitch black to a dismal gray. Where once fire and color painted the sky, dark storm clouds loomed overhead.  
  
Trained for years to wake before dawn, Clarice Starling willed herself out of sleep. The first thing she was aware of was pain. She hissed slightly, unknowingly stretching the new stitches on her shoulder.  
  
Turning slightly to relieve the strain on the torn skin, she had to stifle the yell of surprise that threatened to come out when she saw who was next to her.  
  
Dr. Lecter!  
  
He lay beside her, one arm draped over her torso. Clarice wanted to scream at him, but clamped a hand over her mouth to keep herself quiet.  
  
As slowly as she could stand, Clarice lifted his arm off of her and laid it back down on the bed. She paused, listening for any change in the man's breathing. The slow, steady breath of his sleep stayed in rhythm.  
  
Clarice moved away from the bed; disgusted with him and herself upon feeling the dull ache between her legs when she walked across the room.  
  
Memory welled up in her mind.  
  
"Given the chance, you would deny me my life, wouldn't you?"  
  
"Not your life."  
  
"Just my freedom. You'd take that from me. Would they have you back then, you think? The F.B.I.? Those people you despise almost as much as they despise you. Would they give you a medal, Clarice, do you think? Would you have it professionally framed and hang it on your wall to look at and remind you of your courage and incorruptibility? All you would need for that, Clarice, is a mirror." He went into the kitchen then, and Clarice tried to do the right thing.she tried.  
  
"Would you ever say to me, "Stop. If you love me, stop?" "  
  
"Not in a thousand years."  
  
"Not in a thousand years"... That's my girl."  
  
Clarice felt sick at the thought of what they had done. To Lecter's warped perspective, she had somehow shown him affection! To Lecter, that simple statement had translated into an open invitation for him to initiate sex. And he did, oh Lord, he had only been too happy to take her again and again last night, and she begged him not to stop.  
  
Hannibal hadn't even needed to threaten her.  
  
Clarice moved around the room quietly; looking for her clothes-any clothes- so that she could get dressed and get the hell out of the house before he woke up.  
  
"Good morning Clarice."  
  
She whirled around to find Lecter sitting up on the bed, watching her. "You won't find any clothes up here. If you recall, most of our articles were shed downstairs."  
  
He kept his wide eyes on her; unblinking, unwavering.  
  
Clarice felt her stomach tie itself into a million knots under his gaze. "I- I have to get dressed Doctor."  
  
He grinned a bit, "I think that after last night we can dispense with formalities."  
  
Clarice visibly shuddered before trying again, "I need some clothes."  
  
Hannibal pointed past her, to the two robes that hung on the coat rack by the door.  
  
"Toss me the blue, would you my dear?" Clarice did as he asked, taking the white for herself.  
  
Had she been calmer, she would have watched her mouth; but she wasn't, so she didn't, and couldn't stop herself when she snapped back, "I'm nobody's dear!"  
  
Once properly attired, Hannibal rose swiftly from the bed and advanced on her. Placing both hands on either side of the wall at her back, he had successfully trapped Clarice.  
  
"You were mine last night, don't forget it. What's the matter?"  
  
"The matter is I'm leaving! If you have any sense, you'll leave too." She snapped harshly as she moved past him.  
  
Lecter's face darkened at her mood swing. 'Women!' he thought to himself. But it wasn't women in general; it was this one, Clarice Starling that was being so annoyingly.bitchy.  
  
Hot one minute, then an ice queen the next. Was this how she always behaved? He'd have to break her of that habit.  
  
He wanted her to answer him, and decided to dig a little deeper, be a bit more direct and talk a little brusquer if need be.  
  
"Where are you going, Clarice? Back to the F.B.I.? You'll go back to them as you are now? Hmmm? Still warm and wet from a night shared with 'Hannibal the Cannibal'?"  
  
Clarice turned on him then, letting her temper show. "No, you had me drugged! You forced me to-"  
  
"Forced? Clarice, please, many things I am, but a rapist has never been one of them. In any case, you never said a word to stop me."  
  
Clarice flew at him, her anger and frustration overwhelming her logic. Hannibal caught her arm in mid-punch, quickly grabbing her other wrist and forced her backward, onto the bed.  
  
He pinned her to the mattress, trapping her beneath him.  
  
Where she expected him to tear into her flesh, he only held her down until she paused in trying to struggle free of him, "Why are you fighting me, Clarice? I'm not the one you're mad at. You're mad at yourself for failing. What did you fail at, Clarice? What were you trying to accomplish?"  
  
She writhed beneath him again, trying to get free, but they both knew it was useless. "I wanted you back in custody."  
  
He looked down on her, his eyes and voice hard. "You know I'll die before I see that dungeon again. Never again. But that's not what you really want, is it Clarice? No, I've been free for years, and you didn't pursue me. I think what you really want is the restoration of your status at the F.B.I. for my capture." He could feel Starling's body tense beneath his, silently affirming his suspicions.  
  
"At last we've come to it. Even after everything they've done to you, you're still in love with the bureau, aren't you? If somehow you did manage to take me back in chains, do you think they'd take you back once they realize you've slept with the enemy?"  
  
Clarice looked up at him. "They won't."  
  
"You're right, they won't. You gave it everything you had, but it wasn't what they wanted of you. Do you know why?"  
  
"Enlighten me, Dr. Lecter." Clarice demanded, tears welling up in her eyes. If ever she had a personal reason to hate him, this was it. He could take one look at her and strip her life of all of its false pretenses. From her 'white trash' beginnings to the suspicion she faced at work, Dr. Lecter was able to hone in and taunt her with her own life.  
  
"It's because the F.B.I. is for paper pushers and aspiring politicians, not people like you. Remember what you are, Clarice? A warrior. Come away with me."  
  
"No."  
  
"Why? Ask yourself this, Clarice, 'What is keeping me here, in this wretched life of bureaucracy?' Endless hours of paperwork spent in a dark little basement office, groveling for the recognition from men who'll grant you the inch of advancement you crave after you finally relent to their propositions? You'd have to sleep your way to the top, Clarice. Is that the life your father would've wanted for you?"  
  
"No." She had wanted to sound angry, forceful, but the word came out softer than a pipsqueak. He was right and they both knew it.  
  
Hannibal stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, clearing her face free of tears.  
  
"I'll take you away from all that Clarice. You don't deserve the life you've chosen. Let me show you the world you've missed."  
  
*^*^*^*^*  
  
'In a related story, police have reported ex-Special Agent Clarice Starling as a missing person. She was recently suspended from duty after reportedly withholding evidence leading to the whereabouts of renown serial killer Dr. Hannibal 'The Cannibal' Lecter, who had escaped ten years ago.'  
  
The news report on the overhead television screen was drowned out and instantly forgotten by the traveling masses, all of them rushing to their gates.  
  
Had anyone been paying attention to the news broadcast and the mug shot they had on the screen, they might have noticed the man walking briskly to his flight.  
  
Finely dressed, with a tasteful fedora atop his head, nonchalant and confident.  
  
Had he not blended in so well, someone might have noticed him; him or the woman who walked at his side, toward the private jet that would take them back to Florence. 


End file.
